Don't Play With Fire
by purplemockingjay
Summary: All Blaze has ever known is life in prison and life on the run, until she finds out that her parents were Cato and Clove from District 2. Then she enrolls in Academy so she can finish what they started. This is the story of her experience in the 100th Annual Hunger Games. Reviews appreciated!
1. Chapter 1

The wind whipped my hair violently around my face as I gripped the thin steel rod that ran down the slippery metal surface of the roof. The faint light of the crescent moon was the only light I had to see one inch in front of me, as I slowly made my way toward the back. This was difficult, and it was irritating. I had to be both very careful and very stealthy, for if anyone heard me up here, I was dead. And needless to say, if I fell I'd be dead too. Because this train was going 200 mph. And I was crawling across the roof of it.

My fingers felt numb with the bitter cold and I took a moment to bite down hard on my knuckles to get some feeling back into them, before continuing to inch my body along the roof, very slowly, very steadily. One move off of center, and I'd fly off to one side and plummet to my death. My hands gripped the little bar running down the center of the roof, my lifeline, and I used it to inch myself forward, moving ever closer to the back of the train. Thank goodness there were very few curves in the path of the train tracks, or I'd be a goner.

The bitter wind ripped tears from my squinting eyes as I forced my muscles to keep moving, hand over hand, pulling my body across the roof until finally, finally I was very close to the edge of the very back of the train. Now I had to time this right or I'd throw myself to my death, far down into the chasm currently below the train tracks. I waited, waiting until the ground would be a little closer.

Then, in one swift motion, I threw myself forward, flipping over at 200 mph and letting go as soon as I was relatively sure I was parallel to the ground. I felt a couple of my fingers and my left arm dislocate from their sockets at the force of the motion, but I couldn't stop to whine. I whipped around in the air, completing a tight somersault through the chilled breeze, and landed hard in a crouched position, stumbling and collapsing onto my stomach at the abruptness of the impact.

I took a moment to breathe. I was lying on thin train tracks. It was barely above ten degrees out here. And I had just escaped captivity yet again. I took a look at my stiff hands, figuring they were probably blue by now, and without flinching I deftly snapped the four dislocated fingers and then my arm back into place. I took another moment, simply holding my hands to my mouth and breathing on them, while listening to the tremors of the train fade away into the distance.

I was free. But I had to get a move on if I wanted it to stay that way for long. I forced myself to get to my knees, and I sat back on my heels to look around. I was still relatively high up, but nothing too horribly dangerous. I couldn't see exactly where I was, as it was nearly pitch black outside, but I could faintly see the outline of my surroundings and I got to my feet slowly, my head spinning. Only one thing to do now.

I focused on the tree nearest to the tracks. And I jumped. Instantly branches and twigs whipped past me, slicing into my skin as I flew through the air, crashing through the foliage. The second I felt my momentum slowing, I grabbed hold of a sturdy tree branch. My momentum made my legs go flying over my head so I flipped over, and ended up dangling from the branch, only my arms hanging on. My muscles screaming at me for being misused for so long, first the agonizing crawl along the train roof and now this, I gritted my teeth as I pulled myself up, and finally came to rest in a sitting position on the branch, my back against the tree trunk. I wasn't done. I had to keep reminding myself that. I had to get out of these woods; there could be cameras anywhere. And I had to find out where exactly I was. What District? I had to get to the District headquarters and construct myself a fake identity before dawn, which was probably very soon.

I reached my hand inside my jacket, my fingers closing around a small knife concealed inside. I had managed to retrieve most of my belongings during my escape; my leather jacket, which contained a lovely array of knives, my belt, which also held an assortment of knives, and my backpack, which I had had to empty most of since I didn't want too much dead weight on my back. But there was a bit of food and water along with some bandages and medicine in there. Basic needs.

After leaving my hand in my jacket until it had had time to defrost, I pulled out the knife from my jacket and absently twirled it around my fingers, breathing deeply as I took a moment to rest. My fingers were painful and stiff, frozen and discolored, but at least they were somewhat functional now. I would worry about injuries later. I swung around and began to climb down the tree, my stiff, cracked, and bleeding hands protesting, but I ignored them. I finally made it to the ground and looked around, knife in hand, ready for anything as I started walking through the shadows.

The air was thicker down here, not as clean and clear and easy to breathe. I had to be near a district. I kept my footsteps swift, soft, and silent. As I could see a dim light coming into view in the distance, I sensed someone behind me. I whirled around and in an instant had him pinned against a tree, knife pointed at his throat. "Who are you?" His face was hard to see, since there was barely any light to see anything by, but I could tell he was raising an eyebrow at me. "I don't think you should be the one asking questions around here, stranger. Take my advice and leave immediately before they see you and shoot you."

I didn't move a muscle. This guy could already tell I wasn't from around here, and yet he hadn't attacked me. "I intend to stay, actually. Where am I?" "I said stop asking questions. I think I should be the one asking who _you _are." I faltered. Shoot. Of all the planning I had done, I hadn't thought of a new fake name. I'd been Maria Levette for a while, in District 4 where they had been moving me from, but now what? "I'm Violet," I managed to get out, my inner conscience telling me I needed to hurry up and say something before I looked suspicious.

"How did you get here?" His sharp words snapped me back to reality. "Look kid, I don't even know where here is. Would you mind telling me?" "You're in District 2. And look, if you're not going to leave, you'd better come with me before they catch you out here and skin you alive." "Why should I trust you?" "Well, being the son of the Head Peacekeeper and the top student at my academy, I could quite easily have you killed or worse. It's really a matter of obeying, not trust." Immediately I decided that I didn't like this guy. "In case you haven't gathered it so far, I'm not so great at taking orders." "Well if you intend to stay here, I'm sure that will change."

I could see the outline of his arm move, and that's when I saw he had a sword in his belt. I sprung backward, and his sword slashed upward in the air where I had been standing a moment ago. I pulled out another knife for my other hand, and used both to block a strong, powerful blow. I darted through the trees, getting far enough away, and then turned around and threw a knife at him, hearing it whistle loudly as it virtually cut through the air at an incredible speed. I heard a muffled cry the moment the whistling stopped. I came out from behind a tree to see him biting his sleeve as he ripped the knife out of his thigh. He looked up and saw me, and I saw anger in his eyes.

In an instant he was running at me, and before I could draw another knife he tackled me to the ground. His sword wasn't in his hand; he seemed intent on wrestling me, perhaps to snap my neck. I still had one knife in my left hand, and I used the hilt to bash him over the head. He punched me in the jaw, and caught my wrist before I could nail him in the side. I relaxed for a moment, my right hand pulling out another knife as he looked down at my face.

"You're surprisingly strong for a runaway," he mused, "Ever been trained in an academy?" I spat in his face, and then threw him off me, rolling away and getting to my feet to continue to run away. I heard whistling and instinctively ducked, and a knife flew over my head. So I wasn't the only skilled knife-thrower here. Interesting. I wove through the trees, but to my disappointment I realized he must know these woods so much better than me, because he cut me off a minute later, probably knowing a shortcut. He tried to grab me but I punched him in the gut, and we became entangled in a brutal fistfight for nearly twenty minutes. Neither of us seemed able to knock the other out, so I reached for a knife. He grabbed one out of my belt before I did, and suddenly the hilt connected with my temple with such force, I didn't even have time to be annoyed at how low it was to defeat me with my own weapon, I blacked out too fast.


	2. Chapter 2

I woke up to the sound of voices. Many voices. Hundreds even. And other sounds, of scuffling, fighting, swords clanging and punches thrown. I rolled over and fell onto the cold stone floor, and realized I had been sleeping in an actual bed, or rather a cot of sorts. "Easy there." The much less distant voice in the doorway close to me made me jump, and I sprang to my feet, my hand going to my belt for a knife but not finding any there. "Who are you?" I asked, my eyes darting around the room in search of my backpack and jacket. "Calm down, Miss Violet, you're still injured, you need to rest."

I made to lie down again by firm hands, and I looked up to see a vaguely familiar face. "You… you're the guy who found me in the woods." He nodded shortly, moving me so I shifted, and he started rewrapping a bandage around my arm. "My name is Zeke. Zeke Morgan. I'm one of the trainers here at Academy, and also their top student." "Why am I here?" I mumbled, my face remaining stoic, expressionless as pain shot through my arm every time he touched it. "Well, Miss Violet, I don't normally pick fights with lone strangers in the woods, but when I do I always win. Very easily. You, on the other hand, while I did still beat you, were a challenge. Something I haven't had in a quite a while. And seeing how you were exhausted, injured, maybe even delirious… I'm curious to see your full abilities once you've got your strength back and a bit of training here with me."

I raised an eyebrow, and couldn't help noticing the large bandage around his thigh, where I had wounded him. "Why would you care about training my abilities?" "Obviously because you could win some serious glory for our district by winning the Hunger Games, of course. In a year or two. I'm volunteering this year; it's my last year and I'm far at the top." His prideful smirk irritated me. "Hunger Games, pride, glory, big whoop. I've spent enough time running for my life, thanks, I don't want a televised, creative version with other people involved." His cold, calculating blue eyes studied my face for a moment. "Who _are_ you? Where do you come from?" "I'm Violet," I said calmly, "And I'm from, uh, District 5."

He raised an eyebrow. "Why do I get the feeling," his voice was icily calm as he drew a knife from his belt and pointed the tip at my throat, "That you're lying to me?" I swallowed, watching his eyes steadily and not dropping my gaze. "Why do you care so much about who I am?" I asked him after a moment's pause. "Don't try to avoid the question with me, "Violet," I know you're lying to me. And why do I care? I don't think you understand. When I found you last night, I could have turned you in to the Capitol authorities, and you'd be imprisoned or shot for encroaching on District 2 property. And you sure looked, to me, like some sort of runaway. You should be on your knees thanking me, not lying to my face."

My eyes were narrowed to catlike slits as I stared back up at him, saying nothing. Then without a word, he stabbed a needle into my arm, and I watched without flinching as the syringe attached filled with my blood. "Fine then. You won't tell me, I'll just have to find out. I'm the son of the Head Peacekeeper of District 2, I've got access to pretty much any file, code, or computer I please." I turned my head slowly, watching him go to a lab table across the room and begin a blood analysis. A computer screen turned on, and from what I could see, it was downloading information from my blood and comparing it to every file of every citizen in the country of Panem.

After several minutes of silence, he slowly turned around to look at me. "Would you like to explain to me why there are four people in this country with your exact DNA?" I said nothing, merely staring at him in hostility. "Skye Lockhart, now age 15, District 7, occupation: wood sorter. Crystal Venn, now age 15, District 1, occupation: jewel polisher. Maria Levette, now age 15, District 4, occupation: net weaver. And Blaze Smith, now age 15, District unknown, occupation: Capitol prisoner." I watched as he tapped on the final name and began reading my file aloud. "Parentage unknown, District unknown, birthdate unknown, approximately fifteen years of age, dark brown hair, pale blue eyes, fair skin, slender build, 5'7", marked by numerous scars located on the limbs. Origin unknown, captured eight years ago for the murder of two families, held in a Capitol jail but escaped one week later after clawing the faces off of the guards. Escaped to unknown whereabouts, was recaptured for grand theft, breaking and entering, and physical assault on numerous citizens. Moved to the Capitol's strongest prison, escaped a month later, her chamber guard not found until his head washed up from the river two weeks later. Escaped to unknown whereabouts, then recaptured for brutal manslaughter of seven Capitol officials. Moved to underground asylum… Isn't that the one no one monitors? Like where they can do anything to you?"

He turned around, and his expression briefly showed a flash of alarm at the sight of the demonic glare I had been giving the back of his head. I looked away from him in disgust, and I released my clenched fists to find blood on my palms where my nails had dug in. "So you're basically Panem's most wanted, the hero of every criminal out there." "Shut up before I give them another reason to arrest me." I caught another glimpse of alarm in his eyes at the sharp snap of my voice. "Now give me my stuff, let me go, and nobody will get hurt." "Get hurt?" he echoed with a sharp laugh. "You're a legally insane criminal who's been sentenced to death by now no doubt, how can you think I'll let you go?" "Who knows," I said darkly, sliding off the cot and scanning the room for my belongings.

I finally spotted them and tried to grab them, but Zeke got in my way. "With all you've done, why have they kept you alive so long? Why haven't they just killed you? I know you must be important to them somehow, surely…" "Would they really contain someone important in a strait jacket for weeks on end? Would they really torture someone important so mercilessly?" I pushed up my right sleeve in an almost violent motion, revealing the mass of scars that marred my skin. "I'm covered in these. They're only a small remainder of what they've done to me. Would they really abuse someone valuable? I can't imagine why." He stared at my arm for a long time in silence.

"Who were your parents, Blaze?" His voice was softer now, as he stood perfectly still, watching my arm as he appeared lost in thought. His voice echoed in my head, as this was the first time in years I had heard my real name spoken out loud, and I was at a loss for words, not just from hearing my name but also because I didn't know how to answer. "I don't know," I said quietly, after another pause. "The earliest memory I have is of being kept in a Capitol cell." I turned away from him, staring absently at myself in the mirror on the back of the door. I was a wreck. My long brown hair was a hopeless mess of tangles, my face and skin were covered in scratches and cuts from the woods, my hands were still pinkish-purple, and I was injured in more places than I could count. My eyes looked tired, but they still blazed, with the stubborn, negative energy that they always had.


	3. Chapter 3

I'd always been pretty familiar with pain. Rarely a day passed without it. But here, day 3 of training in this giant center at "Academy," pain was the spur driving me forward, instead of pain meant to break me apart. The slice across my cheek? A reminder of how Zeke now deserved one. The bruise across my left thigh? A reminder that I needed to get better at climbing ropes. The burns on my hands? I sucked at making fires and needed to improve. Everything was about getting better. And I liked this viewpoint. Now the sudden pain in my jaw reminded me I needed to not get distracted when sparring with Zeke.

"Oi, not the face again," I said in irritation, as I proceeded to attack him and kick him in the gut before getting in a scratch across the shoulder. "A real opponent would not care about how pretty your face is, dearie," he said sarcastically as he swung at my head. I ducked and rolled away, and the fight went on as it had for long while, until he nailed me in the hand and I shrieked, dropping my sword. "Whoa, both a loss AND a scream, what has gotten into you?"

That cocky, smug voice and face needed to go die. My hand was bleeding badly now, I realized, as I looked down at it. Fuming, I stormed out of the training center, using my body to shove open the door and slam it as my good hand clutched my bleeding one. I made my way down the corridors and into the hospital wing, avoiding eye contact with everyone as I glared at the ground, the pain in my hand growing by the second. I didn't really know where I was going; I shoved past any nurse who tried to stop me, and I guess I was headed for the back of the wing to find an empty treatment room where I could fix myself and be alone.

I turned down an empty-looking hallway and passed a few offices when I paused, hearing a whispered, "You." I turned, peering into the dim office where I could see a small man sitting at a desk, staring at me. He motioned me toward him, and I hesitantly went toward him. He got up, revealing that he really was a small man barely five feet tall, and he quickly closed the door and started rummaging around in a drawer. "Sit," he pointed at a second chair, and I sat down, eying him warily as he pulled out some cream and bandages and sat back in his chair. He held out his hand for mine across the desk, and after giving him a suspicious look, I let go of my bleeding hand and set it in his. He immediately began working on it, dressing the wound with gentle and nimble fingers.

"I have waited so long for this day," the old man said after a moment of silence. He released my hand once it was comfortably tended and wrapped. I merely watched him, curiously waiting for an explanation. "I realize that you probably do not recognize me, Miss Smith, but I was the first person you met when you came into this world." There were smile crinkles at the edges of his eyes behind his thick glasses. I frowned slightly, still saying nothing. The man was obviously a Capitol doctor, his hair a frazzled emerald green and his voice laced with traces of a Capitol accent.

"My name is Dr. Gaius, Miss Smith. If you have the time, I would like to explain myself, and clear up a few questions you may have." "How do you know me?" Those were the first words I spoke. I wanted to know how this man knew my name and what he was talking about. "It's a long story, Miss Smith, and I'd advise you to brace yourself for some rather shocking pieces of information." "I've had worse, go on." He nodded, almost sorrowfully. "Yes, I'm afraid you have. All my fault of course. I should have hidden you away in a safer location. But there wasn't time." Intrigued, I waited for him to continue.

"Do you know why your name is Blaze, Miss Smith?" he asked, but didn't wait for me to answer, "It's because of the power, the emotion, the energy you contain in you. I was the first to meet you as a newborn, and you were a feisty one." There were smile crinkles by his eyes again. "You blazed with life, and I couldn't have been prouder of my work." "Are you saying you invented me?" "No, no, not at all. Hush now, let me continue. No, you were indeed born from natural parents. They were not married, but I gave you your father's last name nonetheless, for those two were closer than any married couple could ever be. You see, Miss Smith, you were not born under normal circumstances. And to put it in as plain terms as I can, your embryo was rescued from your mother's dead body. It was I who discovered she had been pregnant, and it was I who saved you."

So my mom really was dead. I had figured as much, but there was always that small, pointless hope that every orphan has, that I could find my parents again someday. "Then why—" "Hush child, I will explain. You see, your mother wasn't dead from natural causes. She was only a teenager, a strong, brave, skilled teenager, from this District in fact, and she had just been killed in our renowned pageant of the Hunger Games." The Hunger Games. The event I was now supposedly in training for. The irony was sickening.

"They made a pregnant girl compete in the Hunger Games?" I asked after a moment, frowning even more. "They did not know, child. She became pregnant the day after physical examination, I believe." "How? If she was already at the Capitol—" "The boy she loved came with her, Blaze. He volunteered the moment she was reaped. He too was killed in the Games. He was your father." I sat very still, in silence, my brain trying to absorb this. I was the love child of District 2's tributes in a Hunger Games.

"Which- Which Games was it?" I asked faintly, my head spinning. "The 74th." His quiet words echoed through the small office. "Isn't that the Games with—" "Yes, yes, the Games that the rebel, the Mockingjay, Katniss Mellark won." This made my head spin even more. Katniss Mellark. That woman who had tried to rise up against the Capitol and failed. And suffered the consequences. "Would you like to see them, Blaze?" Chills ran through me at those words. See my parents? "I have a tape of those Games right here. I caught wind that you had arrived here, and knew I had to speak to you about this."

He slid the disk into his computer and the recording began. "I recorded not just the Games but the parade and interviews as well, which I normally do. Here you can see them up close." He went to the interviews, and I felt my chest contracted as if it were being squeezed in an iron vice. A girl, not much older than me right now, walked onto the stage to greet the interviewer, amidst an uproar of cheers. Dr. Gaius paused it. "This, Blaze, is your mother. Age 16, from District 2, Clove Rivers, a skilled knife-thrower like yourself."

I hadn't cried real tears in years, but now they threatened to well up in my eyes. "She's beautiful," I whispered. He smiled and played the tape. Clove had a clear voice, and I sat very quiet as I listened to her talk, to hear her say things about herself and about her life. She could be my sister, really, she looked so much like me. Or rather, I looked so much like her. Long, dark hair. Pale, freckled skin. I thought we might have the same eyebrows and nose. I watched in silence until there was applause and she began to leave the stage. I didn't want her to go. I had been just starting to get to know her.

But I didn't have time to say something, because then the name Cato Smith rang out and more deafening cheers welled up from the crowd. A tall, muscular boy strolled out to greet the interviewer. Well, I say boy, but he was bigger than the interviewer who was a full-grown man himself. So he must have been eighteen, he had golden blonde hair, smooth tan skin, and bright, piercing, startling blue eyes like my own. And obviously a massive ego. I had to smile. My ego had gotten me into countless scrapes.

While Clove's words had been quiet, calm, even mysterious, Cato was bold, fierce, his words practically already challenging viewers to a fight. I looked away when he finished, not wanting to see more. The doctor merely continued watching the screen, lost in thought. "How did they die?" I whispered. "Your mother was killed first," he sighed after a moment, "In sixth place, I believe. They had a whole plan set up to catch and kill who they saw as their biggest threat, Katniss Mellark, or rather Katniss Everdeen, as she was in those days. They knew she needed medicine for Peeta Mellark and so Cato waited in the woods for her, cutting off escape routes while Clove went in to fight her directly. Your mother was almost victorious, but then Thresh, a giant boy from District 11, killed her. A rock to the head. And soon after, I saved you. Thresh and Katniss left the scene quickly, but the hovercraft did have to wait for Cato, who found her right after she died. He nearly died then and there too. I assure you nearly everyone in the Capitol was crying at what they saw on screen.

We had to force him away from her so we could take her away. The moment she was in the hovercraft, I went to her, because I had had suspicions about her being pregnant. Before anyone else got to her, I surgically removed your embryo from her stomach, and kept you in a freezer for a few years until I was sure everyone had forgotten who Clove was. I hid you away.

After waiting for years though, I finally decided it was time to let you grow. So I kept you a secret experiment in my own personal lab, and the day you were "born," officially grown into a human baby, I could not have been prouder." He sighed though, no smile there. "But you only made it to age 2 before you were discovered. You were so small, so innocent. And when I discovered you were missing, my heart broke." A single tear rolled down my cheek, and it was all I could do to keep more from following.

"Thank you," I whispered, looking back at the screen in hope of distracting myself. A small redheaded girl sat in the chair beside the interviewer, timidly but calmly answering questions. "The Games are brutal," I said softly, "I know I shouldn't be talking, seeing what I've done, but this is worse." "I know, Blaze, I know. It is a horrid tradition. Katniss tried to end it but failed. But of all the people out there, Blaze, I think you would be the most capable of ending the Capitol's oppression. You of all people could do it." He stopped the video and took out the disc, and he pressed it into the palm of my good hand. "Take it with you. And try as hard as you can to keep your parentage a secret. Now quick, go, return to your training." The little man got up and went to the door. I followed him and paused for a moment, looking at him with gratitude in my eyes. He had risked his neck to save my life. I smiled faintly, then hurried out into the hall and back toward the training center, hoping Zeke wouldn't be too pissed that I had been missing for a while.


	4. Chapter 4

My parents were Cato and Clove. I couldn't keep that thought out of my head as I walked down the cold gray streets of District 2, finally done with training for the day. I was bruised and scratched in countless places but that was only encouragement. I was going to throw myself into training hardcore like Zeke wanted me to, because I planned to win the pageant that had killed my parents. I would succeed or die trying. I didn't know where this determination had suddenly come from, I would've thought I would have just hated the games all the more. But now I burned to enter the games, I blazed with the desire to finish what my parents had wanted and I couldn't get my mind to think about anything else.

I'd only been here for a few days, but my feet already knew where to go. After my arrival, Zeke had arranged things so I was now officially a citizen of District 2, and he had relocated me from the training facility backroom to his own home, which was one of the grandest buildings I've ever laid eyes on, that I can remember at least. I walked up the path toward the house, and went around to the side of it, where there was a small side door.

Entering, I closed it behind me and walked down the narrow staircase before me, and went down the hall to my room to change. It was a small room, with a little bed in one corner and a dresser and a mirror in another, one lamp on the dresser being the only light. There weren't any windows, as this was in the large basement floor of the building. Zeke's parents didn't know I was here. A few servants did, but the Head Peacekeeper didn't. Zeke said they never came down here, and it was all for the better, I thought to myself, as I opened my closet and pulled out my change of clothes.

After taking a quick shower in the bathroom next door, I got dressed and started combing my hair when Zeke came in. "Having troubles?" he asked in vague amusement, seeing me attacking a stubborn snarl. "Yes," I said irritably, "I need to cut this mess, it's much too long to be manageable." "It think you should leave it," he mused, sliding onto the counter to sit next to where I stood, "As potentially dangerous as it could be in a fight, I think it'd be a shame to get rid of it." When I finished brushing out my hair, he took the brush from me and started putting up my long hair into a high ponytail, and used multiple ties to bind sections of it securely. "I've seen a couple Career girls do it like this, in the past," he said, unaware of my alarmed expression. I recognized this hairstyle; it was exactly like how my mother had worn hers in the arena. I looked just like her.

"It's, uh, thanks," I stammered after a moment of silence, watching my own bright blue eyes in the mirror. I was very pale, paler than normal. He looked at me for a moment, as if studying my face, then slid off the counter. "Anyway, you did well in training today. Tomorrow's Saturday, we've got an easier day, but I can train you afterward if you like. We can work on your spear-throwing, you've never really been good at that." I rolled my eyes with an exasperated sigh, tugging on my fingerless gloves. "You've got to learn, Blaze, what if there aren't throwing knives in your arena?" "There's a 99% chance there will be. They want a good show don't they? It sounds to me like they normally give the Careers what they want." "True," he smiled, following me out into the other room.

I sat down on the couch and turned on the television, and he sat beside me. "So," he said after a moment, "Any chance you could tell me a little more about yourself? All I know is that you're a national criminal who's sanity is questionable." I snorted. "That's pretty much all my life has consisted of." "But what about your parents? You don't know a single thing about them?" I tried not to look like I was about to lie. "No. They died before I was born." "Before?" he asked incredulously, "How did that work?" Crap. Way to go, Blaze, you nearly slipped up. "They died before I was born," I restated simply, as if it were obvious, "And I was extracted from my mom's womb and kept alive. I don't know why. I've lived as a Capitol servant/prisoner for ages, running away whenever I could." "How do you know about your parents? Someone must have told you about them, surely, for you to know that."

Ugh. I looked at him, and his lips were twisted in a light smirk. He could tell I knew more. "You've always been a bad liar, Blaze, now come on, you can tell me. I won't tell a soul; I'm good at keeping secrets, as you've seen." His dark eyes twinkled in amusement at my frustration. I weighed my options, and exhaled slowly. "Well, when you injured me the other day, I met this little old guy in the hospital wing. He was from the Capitol. Turns out he was the one who saved my undeveloped self, back then." "Did he tell you much about your past?" "Yes he did, but I don't want to talk about it, so how bout you shut up now, and maybe I'll tell you later if I'm feeling nice," I said irritably, turning away from him to watch the screen in front of us.

Days went by. Weeks went by, and I still hadn't been discovered, except by some of the students at Academy, who only had respect for me and not suspicion, ever since the day they all saw me in the knife-throwing station. I made it clear that I was a powerful threat. As I did today, since I didn't feel like putting up with anything difficult. Right now I was practicing throwing two knives from each hand in different directions. I saw Zeke across the high-ceilinged room, leading around a small crowd of newbies, around ages 10 and 11. He smiled when he saw me, and led them over. "This, my friends, is Miss Blaze Smith, who will demonstrate what true knife-throwing talent looks like."

I snorted, laughing to myself as I went to each target and yanked out all the knives, reloading them all in my belt. Then I went to stand on the center spot of the station, surrounded by little targets and dummies. Zeke pressed a button on a control panel off to the side. Once the targets started moving around, I pulled out two knives, one in each hand. Before it even looked like I was moving, the two knives in my hands were whirling through the air and pierced straight through two targets off to my left, almost going all the way through. Before the knives hit the targets, two more were in my hands, and I did it again, the knives slicing off the heads of two dummies. I kept on going in a slight whirlwind until my knives ran out, throwing them in various directions at tiny targets of different speeds. The last knife I threw as far as I can, and it hit the bullseye of a target for spear practice all the way across the large room.

The kids stared at me in awe for a moment, then started applauding. Zeke and I exchanged amused looks, and he even smiled a little, in approval. I turned and collected my knives again, a light sigh escaping me.

**Author's Note: Sorry this update was a little boring; I've got bad writer's block and I need to develop Blaze's life in District 2 before I can get to Reaping Day :P**


	5. Chapter 5

This was getting tedious. Too easy. It was all too easy. I needed a challenge. Tomorrow was Reaping Day, and everyone was furiously working on their main skill, but I swear if I had to throw another knife today I might scream. Boredom was literally killing me. I already had 154 ways to kill a kid with a knife, either by throwing technique or hand-to-hand, and I couldn't stand to look at the little daggers any longer. Now I walked across the room, my footsteps echoing on the stone floor, and went to the sword station to wait for a trainer to be free.

I turned around when I felt cold steel against my neck. "Looking for someone to spar with?" Zeke's eyes twinkled merrily. This was his element. People had nearly died after sparring with him. I was lucky that one time to just escape with a bleeding hand. But it was what I needed: a challenge.

I drew a sword off the rack, weighing the heavy and cold steel in my hand, and stepped up onto a vacant platform with him. He twirled his sword lazily, watching me, as he walked in a semicircle, waiting to begin. His dark eyes were still twinkling, watching me, so full of confidence it made me sick.

Then in a gleaming flash, he attacked me, lunging forward with a killing blow that I just barely managed to block in time. I jumped backwards but he kept coming, and our swords' clashing rang throughout the entire center as we engaged in a brutal, lightning-speed sword fight, without a second to pause for breath.

It became almost like a dance, the way we both could almost predict each other's next move and act accordingly, parrying each thrust, twirling and lunging and blocking. Suddenly my weapon was knocked from my hand, from another of Zeke's killer blows.

Without second thoughts, I tackled him, managing to do so only because he wasn't expecting it. We tumbled almost over the edge of the platform, my knees on either side of him and my hands pinning down his sword, my palms pressed against the flat of the blade as we both struggled to push it toward the other. I was panting heavily now; I had never been in a fight with him for this long before. But I was determined to win.

He suddenly flipped us over so he was on top of me, his smirk returning as he tried to press the blade of his sword to my neck, his breath hot and heavy against my skin. Instead I shoved upward so the flat side of the blade hit his face, and used the second I had to shove him off me.

I rolled away and picked up my sword, springing to my feet, and the fight started all over again, with countless thrusts and blocks and slashes. I grew more tired by the minute. After I followed through with one blow, I didn't turn fast enough and he kicked me hard in the back. I stumbled, but kept my footing, and whirled around just in time to stop his sword from cutting my head off.

Our swords clashed with a deafening noise, but I refused to flinch as I glared stubbornly up at his face, struggling to not move, to not give way to his sheer strength. His laughing eyes, his face, his smirking lips, all were barely an inch from me.

But instead, he stepped back, and off the platform. "I think that's enough sexual tension for one day," he mused with a little smile. He smirked again, that irritatingly devilish smirk of his, and he walked off. What tension? was all I could incredulously think. It was only now that I noticed how hot, heavy, and rapid my breathing was; my palms were sweating terribly, my heart was pounding in my chest, and the recollection of the rush and tenseness I had felt every time we got close in that fight made me realize how true his words were. I faintly heard the sword clatter to the ground as my fingers let go of it, and suddenly I felt very weak. I took a few steps backward, then sank to my knees, pressing my palms against the floor as I stared at the ground, trying to get my thoughts in order.

Later that night, I came back to Zeke's house and went down to the basement as usual, to find him already there. "Hey Blaze." "Hi," I said suspiciously, eying him, unsure what to think of him after earlier today. "I have a couple of questions for you, Blaze, would you mind answering them? As I've said before, I'd really like to get to actually know you, and who you are."

I immediately steeled, becoming icy and defensive. I didn't want to talk about myself. And I never, ever would. "Zeke, I don't want to talk about it." He was trying to learn more about my past: about my time in prison, about my parents, about life as a refugee. "I want to understand you, Blaze. Tomorrow's Reaping Day, for crying out loud. I'm going to volunteer, Blaze, and what if I get asked about you in the interviews? I won't be able to say much."

I stared at him. "Why would you talk about me during the interviews?" "Oh, you know, they ask you all about your life, and I figured the story of finding you would be more interesting than other stuff I've been through." "Well find something else! I'm not telling you anything." "Wow, I save your life and train you here for months and this is the thanks I get?"

"Shut up, Zeke, don't try the guilt card on me, you know it won't work. I've killed people, Zeke, I've destroyed lives without so much as flinching. Why do you think I was sent to the asylum, Zeke? Why do you think I'm eager to volunteer for next year's Games without second thoughts about killing kids? Why do you think I scare other people? It's because I don't have feelings, Zeke, I don't have emotions; I never feel remorse or sorrow or fear or joy about any of my actions, and I never will."

I pushed past him and sauntered across the room, but he grabbed me before I could go in my room and slam the door. "This is why I've kept you safe, Blaze," he said quietly, smirking, standing very close so he could look down on me condescendingly. "You're a challenge. You've always been a very difficult one. Stubborn, insensitive, easily irritated, sarcastic, yes, and you've never let your guard down for an instant. That's why I'm always around you, that's why I always talk to you and train you, because I've been trying to find a way in to that thick shell of yours. I know you're human in there somewhere, Blaze. All the girls I've ever known are either afraid of me or try to flirt with me, but not you. You view me as an equal, not a superior, for some idiotic reason, and I want to know why. And as impossible as you are sometimes, I'm determined to break into that shell, Blaze."

He suddenly pinned my wrists over my head against the doorframe. "Let me go, Zeke. I'm not telling you anything and I never will." "You just full of mysteries, aren't you?" he mused, that incredibly alluring smirk of his playing on his lips. His dark eyes kept me hypnotized, frozen in place, losing the will to struggle. He put his free hand on my hip, and before I knew what was happening, his lips were crushed against mine in a heated, passionate kiss. "Zeke," I tried to say, but he only took the opportunity to get his tongue in my mouth, kissing me deeply as his hand slid behind me, holding me against him.

I found myself losing the will to struggle at an alarmingly rapid pace, so I took action immediately. Finding my hands free now, I lowered them and shoved him away from me so he hit the other side of the doorframe. "Please don't do this," I said shakily, suddenly feeling the need to run, to hide, to do anything but stay here. "You don't know me. You don't know anything about me."

I pushed him away from the doorframe, and closed the door and locked it. Then I sat down on my bed, clasping my hands together because they were shaking. I had rarely been emotional before, and I needed to stop it. I knew I wasn't stable, and what Zeke was trying to do to me was the absolute worst thing that could be done. It was the day before the Hunger Games Reaping. For the Fourth Quarter Quell.

I of all people knew what a bad idea it was to mix love with the Games. Look what happened to my parents. I mean, sure, I existed because of it, but only because of sheer luck, and honestly, my life has always sucked. A lot. Being an understatement. But Cato and Clove, they were just kids, teenagers in love who fought together and then were torn from each other in the Games.

I didn't want that weakness. I didn't need any more weaknesses. Avoiding nervous breakdowns and fits and even worse was going to be hard enough, next year. And as bad as I should have felt about it, after everything he had done for me, I couldn't help but hope Zeke would die in the Hunger Games, and never come back. Because if he did win, he'd be even more horribly cocky, full of himself, and he'd think he was untouchable, perfect, and irresistible. There was no telling what he might try to do with me then.


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning, I woke up early, the sky barely light outside. I got up and got dressed, in my usual fitted black clothing. Tying my hair up into a high ponytail, I glanced in the mirror at myself. I might be seen on television today. That thought kind of really scared me. What if some Capitol official recognized me? That would be…unfortunate.

I put on makeup and pulled on my boots, thinking about what I could do if I was seen and recognized. I sat on the edge of my bed, next to the little tv on the bedside table and I slid the disc that Dr. Gaius had given me into it. For the next two hours, I watched my parents in their Games, watching every movement, plan, mistake, and surprise that they went through.

I stopped the tape at the night they had alone together, when both Marvel and Glimmer were gone. That part always made me emotional. And I hated feeling emotional. I took out the disc and pocketed it, and gazed out the window at the gray, empty street outside.

A short while later, twirling a knife absently around my fingers, I walked down the path from the house. A bird, perched up on the iron gate at the entrance, squawked at me when I came near it. What an ugly noise. Half a second later, the knife in my hand had pinned the bird through the heart to the ground. I retrieved it, yawning, and wiped the blood off of it on the grass before continuing on my way.

I didn't really know where I was going. I didn't feel like going to the training center, I was done with practicing for quite a while. I slowed when I neared the town square, seeing countless workers cleaning up the place and making it look perfect to be on camera. Above was a giant screen, which was currently showing the Capitol and the celebrations and preparations being made for the receiving of the new tributes for the Fourth Quarter Quell. I absently wondered what the twist this year would be. Hopefully something horrible. The kids around here never looked scared, since they knew that there would always be a volunteer from Academy to take their place if they got picked, and I sort of really wanted to wipe the confident smiles from all their faces.

I climbed up in a tree nearby, concealing myself as I watched the workers turn the boring front of the Justice Building to a grand sight. The screen changed after a while, showing the Reaping in District 1. A pretty blonde girl was chosen, I couldn't tell if she was Reaped or volunteered from here, but a close-up of her face told me she was happy. And the shot also told me she looked like her IQ was around 50, or lower. I rolled my eyes and dropped out of the tree, when other people started arriving to be signed in.

I wasn't sure if I should feel nervous about signing in, since it involved my blood and DNA, which could be traced, but hopefully nothing would go wrong. I waited in line for what felt like a year, and then my finger was pricked by one of their needles and I watched in fascination, as my blood welled up and oozed down onto the paper, which the official then scanned and nodded at me. Sucking at my finger so it would stop bleeding, I made my way over to stand with the girls of my age group, already bored. After another long while, finally the screen turned back on to show President Martius Snow himself.

"Greetings to the citizens of Panem. It has been 100 years since the Uprising, and 25 years since the second attempted Rebellion. This year, to celebrate the Fourth Quarter Quell, the 100th Anniversary of our beloved Games, we would like to remind the rebels that by rebelling, you do not just hurt yourself, but also your families: this year, anyone within the immediate family of a past tribute is eligible to be chosen."

His words echoed in my ears, and it was all I could do to keep myself from looking panicked. Three words pounded loudly in my brain, three words that I desperately hoped weren't true.

_Did they know._

Did they know who I was? Did they know who my parents were? Did anyone besides Dr. Gaius know about me? I heard murmuring in the crowd, and I looked around. Some people looked terrified, others, particularly ones I recognized from Academy, looked furious. It was understandable, I guess. They had been training all their lives and now they couldn't volunteer if they didn't meet the requirement.

I found Zeke in the crowd and I mouthed, "What about you?" He nodded and mouthed back, "My brother." He looked as though he wanted to say something else, possibly asking me if I would be eligible, but instead he turned and started pushing his way up to the front of the crowd, as the serious-looking Capitol official up there turned and went to one of the Reaping bowls.

"Gentlemen first," he said calmly, his bright yellow hair glistening in the sun. He reached in and pulled out a card, opening it with graceful flair. The name was barely out of his mouth when Zeke lunged forward and volunteered, and applause and cheers exploded across the crowd. Zeke was a popular guy, to put it very lightly. When the people finally calmed down a bit, the official could be heard asking Zeke about his relation. With that smug grin on his face, he told him that his brother had won the 96th Games.

More cheering drowned everything out again. I surveyed the crowd, nervously noting that there were many, many police officers patrolling the borders of the town square. There was no escaping the area. My palms were sweating as I watched the official make his way over to the girls' Reaping bowl. He delicately reached in and pulled out a card, making his way back to the microphone.

I felt almost sick. What if I was picked? I had been training for the Games because I intended to enter, but not this year, and not like this. I had no intentions of going up there and announcing my parentage to the world. What if I had to? Should I just say Cato? Or just say Clove? No. I couldn't leave out one, just for the sake of lessening the awfulness of the idea. I would have to tell the truth. I'd have to divulge to Panem that their country, their precious Capitol, had killed off expecting parents in the 74th Hunger Games merely for their entertainment.

He was opening the card. He was inhaling now. His lips began to move.

"Blaze Smith."

There was silence. Dead silence. No volunteers. Why? Oh I knew. I had been stupid enough to terrify practically everyone at Academy, and they were probably all thinking right now that if they crossed me, they'd be killed or worse. The people around me moved aside, and I was forced to walk forward. I could hear faint murmuring now, murmuring, questioning either who I was or who I was related to. I didn't even feel sick anymore; I felt empty, hollow, dazed, as if everything happening right now was a bad dream.

I could hear my feet echo as they climbed the stairs up to the platform. The man grabbed my arm and led me to the microphone. "Hello Miss Blaze," he smiled widely, "Tell us, who are _you _related to?" There was a silence, and I realized he was waiting for my answer. "My parents were both in the Hunger Games," I said quietly, staring out past the crowd, into the distance. "Ah, lucky ones, they are both victors I presume?" "No." My voice rang out a little louder now. "My parents were both brutally killed in the same Games, the 74th Games. Their names were Cato and Clove."

The crowd exploded into an uproar. Everyone had loved those two, especially Cato. Cato Cato Cato. He had been a huge favorite, I had seen from the disc Gaius gave me. The officials around me, including the one holding my arm, looking shocked, stunned beyond their wits. It took the police to calm everyone down, and while that was going on I turned to look at Zeke for the first time. Big mistake. His heated stare was alarming, terrifying; I didn't know whether he was more pissed that I was getting more attention than he was or that now he would have to kill the girl he had been personally training for months.

But instead of looking away, I held his stare, my face expressionless, blank, unchanged after the past horrifying minute. If my rather horrible life had taught me anything, it was to quickly get over anything bad that happened to me, and keep going, not letting it drag me down. And that was what I had to do now. It may have happened a year early and an inconvenient year at that, but that wasn't going to stop me from fulfilling my plan, my plan to win the Hunger Games and beat what had beaten my parents.


	7. Chapter 7

I was escorted into the Justice Building, and locked in a room by myself. At least that much was a good thing. If I had to be alone with Zeke right now…I might not even make it to the Capitol in one piece.

I sat down in a chair, wringing my hands, the only sign that I really was feeling nervous. I stopped as soon as someone came into the room, grabbing a cushion so my hands would stay still. I blinked. It was Dr. Gaius. He looked frazzled, which I supposed was normal, but he looked worse than last time and downright alarmed.

"Blaze, I'm so sorry," he said urgently, "Someone besides me must know about you, I don't know who, but they must have made sure your name was in the Reaping Bowl, and now the Peacekeepers are searching the entire district for any evidence of someone hiding your identity. Master Morgan will certainly be fine, seeing as how he didn't know anything about you, and I have all the proof I possess right here in this suitcase. I'm off to the Capitol now. If they do capture me, Blaze, please know that I'm routing for you. You must win, Blaze, you're meant to be our savior." The little man jumped when he heard a faint noise outside the door, and quickly darted out the other one, his frazzled neon green hair sticking up on end.

I stared down at the cushion I held in my hands, unable to form any more coherent thoughts, my eyes vacant, dazed.

A few moments later I found myself sitting on the floor, surrounded by feathers and scraps of fabric.

I just sat there.

Looking around slowly.

Unfazed by my sudden change in surroundings.

My head slowly revolved around, my expression blank, and then turned down, looking down at my lap. I stared down at my hands sitting there. They were twitching, sore, and contorted. I slowly moved them to rest on the floor on either side of me, next to my legs. I pressed my palms against the floor, so my fingers would stop curling and twitching on their own.

But then they started moving again, started feeling at the particles of torn cushion that surrounded me on the floor. When I looked at the bits of torn fabric and down in my hands, though, I didn't see cloth and feathers. I saw bits of skin and blood. The sight was rather interesting, alarming, fascinating, and haunting, all at the same time. I moved to lie down in it all, and I rolled over so I lay on my stomach.

I didn't move after that, staring straight down at the floor as my forehead pressed against it, lying stiff and straight as a board. The polished wood was cold and hard against my forehead. I heard Peacekeepers come in, but I didn't move. One of them tried to get me to sit up. I snapped up and stared at him with wide, livid eyes. He frowned now, and tried to pull me to my feet.

I started shrieking. The Peacekeeper didn't seem to get the idea; he kept trying to get me to stand and move. My hands found their ability to move again, and I let them, since they seemed to have a mind of their own anyway, and nails made contact with skin.

I merely continued to scream my head off, seeing things that I wasn't sure actually existed, and not seeing everything that really did exist. Someone tried to pick me up but I thrashed away and threw myself back down on the ground, my fingernails clawing at the wood floor as they attempted to drag me to the door. I heard voices, pounding, footsteps, and music, music coming from nowhere, music that sounded unearthly, beautiful, haunting…

I blinked and found someone shaking me. The room was silent. "Oi, quit it would you," I said in annoyance. The motion stopped, and I found myself looking straight up at Zeke's face. "What happened in here, Blaze?" I gave him a strange look. He actually sounded…concerned? He never got concerned about anything. That's when I took a moment to look around.

See, the last thing I remembered was Dr. Gaius leaving. But now, there were gouges in the floor, shreds of cushions littering the entire room, and one of the Peacekeepers was now being helped out of the room to go to the hospital.

So…what were they concerned about? "I'm fine, thanks for asking," I said flatly, jerking away from him and getting to my feet. I looked at my hands. They were twitching, shaking, and raw, and my fingernails were torn and bloody. I clenched them into fists, my jagged nails making cuts on my palms, and I walked out the door. Several Peacekeepers immediately came up to follow close behind me, escorting me to the car, which would take us to the train station.

After a long, silent car ride of passing nothing but empty gray streets of District 2, we finally drew up to the train station. Two large Peacekeepers opened my door and grabbed me securely by the arms, practically dragging me out of the car. This was ridiculous.

Once inside on the train, I sat down on a plush seat in the corner, unfazed by the splendor around me. The only thing that amazed me was how they trusted me to be alone in here. Okay, not alone. Zeke just came in through the door. He walked over toward me, and I could see annoyance in his usually smirking eyes. And then he hit me across the face. "What was that back there?" he hissed, "You better hope they didn't have cameras in there. It's bad enough about your parentage, but if they discover you're not mentally stable? Disastrous." I completely ignored him, staring blankly out the window, my cheek stinging. I had been expecting worse, really. Zeke's temper was worse than my own. In training, he beat people if they didn't do something right. Including me.

He grabbed my jaw in his hand, forcing me to turn my face toward him. "How could you not tell me?" he muttered, "Such an enormous secret. The unstable love child of two dead tributes, Careers our district loved. I can't imagine what the Capitol's thinking right now." His voice was brimming with annoyance and dejection. I guess I knew why. I had sort of stolen his light today. I suppose I did make more of an interesting tribute than just the average killing machine.

I looked up at him briefly, then tried to pull my face from his hand, but he wouldn't let go, his eyes studying my face intently. "How do you want to die, Blaze?" His question caught me off guard, and I stared at him. "We will be allies, I'm sure, but if it ever does come down to it, what's your preference?" Something in his words made me burn. Burn with anger. Blaze with fiery rebellion.

"I want to be tortured," I said calmly, my cold eyes steadily watching his surprised face. "I want to be tortured to death. I want it to be remembered, how the child of two murdered teenagers was slaughtered in an even more brutal way. I want it to be long. I want it to be dramatic. I want it to be painful. You're used to inflicting pain, Zeke, and I've grown accustomed to the natural feeling by now. Make me feel pain, Zeke, if you do get to kill me, for it is the only thing that has ever made me feel alive. Suffering." His navy eyes searched my icy ones, his expression unreadable, his grip on my jaw only slightly loosened. "You're sick," he said after a moment of quiet.

And then his mouth was on mine again, kissing, biting, and sucking, and for the first time I didn't shove away his rough advances; I welcomed the sick passion as another part of the demented hell my life was becoming. Zeke didn't know what he was dealing with, and while I didn't either, at least I had several plots still formulating in the back of my brain, cunning thoughts of plans and survival. Zeke just seemed to like messing around with me; he didn't seem to view me as his actual enemy, more like just a useful nuisance. Well. If he liked playing games, I most certainly could too.


	8. Chapter 8

I jolted awake when someone touched my arm. In an instant I had him pinned to the floor underneath me, to see Zeke's darkly handsome face smirking up at me. I said nothing for a moment, recalling the last time we were in this position, a couple weeks ago, in our hormonally-charged sparring session. "You do like it rough, don't you Blaze?" His sarcastic, laughing words brought me back to reality. I slapped him, not very hard, and quickly got off of him, getting to my feet. Then I realized the train had stopped. "That automatic response system you've got there will help you in the arena," he mused as he stood up too, his eyes watching me. "It's been useful to me in the past. Are we-" I dared to go over to glance out the window. Hundreds and hundreds of people crowded the station platform outside, cheering and waving and smiling ecstatically. The sight made me sick. I stepped back and looked back at Zeke, saying nothing. I wondered about him. Whether I should trust him. Whether he would turn on me or want to keep me around. Whether I actually wanted him on my side. Well, yes, I did want him on my side. I had seen him in Academy. I had seen him nearly kill people. I had seen that smug smirk of satisfaction and deranged composure every time he got to inflict pain on someone. He may be more social, and flirtatious, than I was, but I had to wonder if he might be nearly as crazy as me. Those dark eyes, nearly black, but haunted by the ghost of blue when light hit them, hid who knew how many untold tales, hidden aspects, and concealed secrets.

* * *

After all I had been through, I was allowed to be a bit uncomfortable with people touching me.

But this was just getting ridiculous.

I was surrounded by three very strange, human-like things. Well, I supposed that they would call themselves normal human beings. But being realistic here? One stood above my head, carefully tweezing my eyebrows. Her hair was cropped and styled in neon purple spikes, and her eyelashes of the same color had to be at least three inches long. The guy on the other side of me, the one ruefully examining my scarred arm, his skin was dyed light blue. I didn't know where people got the idea that these things were the new… "fashion". But the worst part of it all was… I wasn't _wearing _anything. Although I guess the fact that these colorful creeps barely seemed human made it not quite as mortifying.

"Hold still, would you?" The third one leaned over me, the one with a tongue that was literally the color of silver, "You're an absolute mess, I don't know how on earth we're going to get you cleaned up by this afternoon." "Aurelia, just look at this," the man whined, "How in the world are we going to hide this? Just cut off the top layer of skin and heal it with good medicine? There's no way makeup will cover them all." He wrenched my arm upwards so the other two could see. They had been scrubbing the dirt out of my skin for the past twenty minutes, and now that my skin was clean, my scars stood out more than ever. The arm he held up was covered in a network of twisted, knotted scar tissue that ran up past my elbow. "Sorry, they weren't exactly shallow wounds," I said tonelessly, "You can't cut them out without cutting my arm off, and then I won't look very good, will I?" I was sick of them already and I hadn't even been here for an hour. But that hour had felt like an eternity, filled with scrubbing and tweezing and waxing and all sorts of horribly unnecessary things. "Well, perhaps he can figure something out," the silver-tongued one, apparently called Aurelia, mused. "Of course he can!" the purple one interjected brightly, "The man's brilliant. Can even make someone like this one look beautiful." I ignored the insult and snapped, "Can we just get on with it? I'm sick of lying here like a bug under a microscope." "Touchy, touchy," Aurelia tsked, as she worked a comb through my hair for the millionth time.

After what felt like a century, they finally decided they had done all they could. "I have _never,_ in all my life, seen someone's skin so…_ ruined._" The irony of the blue man saying that almost killed me. But I didn't say anything. "Hush hush, Lucius, the poor thing's been through a lot, just send her off to Ovid and she should be fine." Aurelia helped me get off the table when I had been lying, and pointed at a door. "Just go through there, he will meet you. Go on," she said kindly. I could have almost developed respect for this one if she didn't have a bright silver tongue.

I turned and walked in the direction she pointed, and pushed open the door to go in. I had just closed the door and walked forward five steps when a voice spoke behind me to my left. "So, you're their daughter." I looked around, instinctively crossing my arms over my chest to cover myself. A man sat at a desk in the corner, and now he stood up, looking at my face.

"It is an honor to meet you, Miss Blaze. I didn't know I'd ever get a chance to meet you." I took a step back as he came toward me, and he waved his hand airily. "Don't bother feeling all self-conscious, that will only make things take longer. I'm here only to help you, Blaze, only to make you stand out above all the other tributes." He lightly caught my chin in his hand, his eyes studying mine. "You have your father's eyes," he mused, before letting go and circling me.

I frowned. "You knew my father?" "I've been the District 2 stylist for some time now, so yes, I met your father. And your mother. I was younger then, and could sympathize with them better than I might today. They were two very different, very interesting individuals. It wasn't hard to help hide the fact that they were in love, with the different styles for them both that I chose. Unlike that Cinna fellow that year… Outrageous. Anyway, yes, I met them both, and I never did think I'd be meeting you. Their precious little baby. Cato's scene after your mother's death was quite moving, have you seen it? The whole speech, the avenging of her death, very touching."

I stared blankly at the wall in front of me, resisting the urge to punch him. "You look uncomfortable." I looked at him strangely. "Well of course I am, I'm standing here with no clothes on in front of a man I just met who's going off about my parents who were brutally murdered. Can we not?"

He chuckled lightly. "You really are your parents' child. Yes, we can get on with things. I must say, I will have to make some design adjustments to hide the imperfections on your arms, back, and neck, but that shouldn't be too hard. Other than that, I think I have something to work with. Proportions not bad, nice lush long hair, startling eyes, pretty face. I must decide about how I want to portray you. Clove went for the mysterious, calm side, Cato went for the aggressive. I'm sensing a bit of both in you, with something a bit more….edgy."

He scratched a few notes on the clipboard I hadn't even noticed in his hand. "You can put on the robe over there," he pointed absently at a garment draped over the arm of a couch with his pencil. I eyed him warily, then went to it and quickly pulled it on, wrapping it tightly around myself. "Now. Blaze."

His airy tone became more serious, and I looked at him as I sat down on the couch. "I want you to know something. I want you to know that you can trust me. Ah, you may snort with laughter now, but know that you can. Cato and Clove trusted me with many of their secrets. They even told me when Clove was pregnant. Anyone else would've had her get an abortion before going into the arena."

I stared at him. "You knew I existed." "I didn't know you had made it this far, but yes, I knew they were going to have a child. I also knew that if Clove died, so would the child. So now I'm wondering…" "What happened," I finished for him, my tone flat, "I'm not telling you anything, "Ovid," you just focus on doing whatever it is you're supposed to be doing and leave my life alone for me to deal with."

"Understand, Blaze," he said after a moment, as he came over to sit beside me. I could see dozens of notes already scratched all over that clipboard of his. "That I do not ask you to tell me more than you feel comfortable revealing. But understand, Blaze, that during the interviews, there is no doubt, not the slightest doubt, that you will be asked about why you exist." "And I'll give them a realistic answer," I said calmly, keeping level eye contact with him, "That I have no idea. How would I be able to remember? I'm not telling them anything."

He sighed lightly. "Well, know that you can trust me, Blaze. I won't betray anything you tell me to anyone else." He got up and looked at me. "Now, for the tribute parade," he said briskly, changing the subject to my great relief, "We need to make a statement. A statement that you two are the most powerful tributes from the most powerful district. We'll worry about beauty and all that when the interviews come around."

He tapped the end of his pencil against his lips, thinking. "Your district is actually quite difficult to style for. All I have to work with is masonry, and weaponry I suppose. I try to avoid doing the bricklayer thing, it's so bland. Blacksmith and stone miner uniforms are not very appealing either. I've done a few years of Peacekeeper outfits, as District 2 is where most are trained… But no, this year must be spectacular. It must be more interesting than any uniform or stereotype of the district. In fact, I might do a spinoff of my design I used for your parents. Golden Roman armor, pertaining to not just the weapons they produce but the power and strength of their district."

He sat down at his desk and started sketching maniacally. "I thought you'd already have something planned," I mused, bored. "No, no, I had to see you first. Had to create something that would go perfectly with your appearance and air." He looked back up at me. "This is, after all, the 100th Hunger Games. Every stylist will be pulling together their best this year. Maybe District 7 won't even be trees."


	9. Chapter 9

I didn't recognize myself. And being the person I was, someone who had gone through intense torture and other disfiguring processes, I was pretty good at distinguishing my own features no matter what happened to them.

But this was a bit different.

My long dark hair had been pulled back into a sleek high ponytail, and my sharp, feature-defining makeup combined with what I was wearing… to make an understatement, I looked fierce. To make a more accurate statement, I looked like the goddess of war.

I was dressed in gleaming silver armor, with various lengths of spikes on the shoulders and waistguard. From not far off it just looked like fancy armor, but up very close you could see, engraved in the surface, were numerous battle scenes, all of them depicting previous victors over the years. The gruesome pictures of death didn't alarm me though, if anything they made me feels more empowered. I smirked at myself in the mirror. My lips were a dark, fierce red. The sharp black eyeliner and the muted blush under my cheekbones made my face more angular, angry-looking even. I looked like a warrior. I looked ready to kill people.

Awesome.

I turned around to see Zeke come in, dressed very similar to me, except he clutched a large blacksmith's hammer in his hand. Why they trusted him with any form of weapon , I didn't know. "You ready?" he said with a little confident smirk, his eyes looking me over. I gave him a short nod, then looked past him when Ovid came in through the door, a woman following him. "Excellent," the woman grinned, clasping her hands together in excitement, "They look simply _divine_." Ovid nodded in calm agreement, looking us over. The armor was rather a masterpiece, and it came up to the top of my neck and covered my hands and feet, so none of my scars showed. I felt fierce and confident in it. Ovid pressed something into my hand, and I looked down to see it was a whip. Interesting accessory.

* * *

I did admit, I had had my doubts about being in just silver for our costume. But when we arrived at the center where the parade was to be held, I thought we might stand out the most.

Because there was just so much color.

Everywhere.

District Three's complicated getup was edged in flashing neon lights. District Ten's usual rancher outfits were now electric pink and blue—and not to mention, they didn't even have a chariot: they were sitting on their horses. Even District Seven, not—wait for it—dressed in lame tree costumes, wore some crowns of branches and capes made of unnaturally bright autumn leaves. Then my attention was drawn to the large fishbowl in the chariot that just rolled in, and the two tributes from District Four dressed as a mermaid and merman standing waist-deep inside of it. What a strange idea.

But enough about the outfits. The competition was all I cared about, and now, here, I got to see the whole cast of tributes. They were too spread out for me to get a close look at each one, but I could still get the sense that this was going to be easy. I caught a glimpse of the District Eight tributes, both of them amusingly small, staring at me. They seemed to be terrified by my mere presence.

As we neared our chariot, I had to squint to even be able to turn my head to our left, because the light overhead was hitting the array of sparkles and jewels across District One's costumes. "I wonder if they'll let us talk to the other Careers today," I heard Zeke mutter. Oh yeah. Other Careers. Working with people and not killing them. Ick. "I hope not," I said bluntly. A blonde girl in the chariot glanced back and gave us a big smile, then turned back to her stylist to adjust her tiara in a mirror. The tall boy next to her gave us a slight nod, no expression on his face, and didn't say a word. My only thoughts on them were: the chick looks like a moron, and hey, the guy isn't blonde.

"Now," Ovid smiled, "As you can see, it's become more than just the costumes this year. It's all about the whole presentation." I then noticed how our chariot had been filled in with a large pile of red rocks, and only a small raised square in the center for us to stand on. "Corundum bricks, just for a bit of flash instead of normalcy," he said absently, his eyes scanning the setup, "I thought I might combine every aspect of your district into one. The masonry, the blacksmithing, the Peacekeeper training, the weaponry. All of it, powerful."

He helped us step over the bricks and up onto the platform, then knelt down and reached underneath the chariot. I looked down to see a mist begin to creep out from under us, and gather around the chariot just a foot high off the floor.

Then Ovid went to the front of the chariot, flipped a switch, and suddenly two concentrated beams of light hit me and Zeke, forcing me to squint a little. He toned down the light just slightly, then took a step back to look at us. It was then that I realized what the spotlights were for: they reflected off of the bricks, the mist, and our armor, and our entire chariot was gleaming like the sun. And since the ruby bricks were translucent, the light made it seem as though we were standing on a mountain of fire, or blood even, not just building blocks. So while the other district might be decked out in color, we shone brighter than all of them, our only color being blood red at our feet.

"I'm liking this," Zeke muttered to me, looking at us compared to everyone else, his usual smirk playing on his lips. "We definitely stand out, that's for sure," I murmured, fiddling with the whip in my hand. "What's this for exactly?" "I'm pretty sure it's supposed to connect to the whole Peacekeeper thing," he chuckled under his breath, "Remind me not to piss you off while we're up here."

Back at Academy, I had spent a couple of weeks learning how to fight with just a whip. I had taken on Zeke in a sparring match and, for the first time, had beaten him so badly it was almost embarrassing. It had been rather amusing, really. Embarrassing enough, however, unfortunately for me, that he seriously beat me up after practice that day.

I was jerked from my memories and back to reality when the carriage suddenly began to move. We were moving into position, into our one line of chariots to enter out into the public, out to the cameras and crowds. "Good luck," Ovid nodded at us as we left him, "Stand tall, look impressive, and get them to love you."

An explosion of cheers, so immense that I could practically feel the giant sound wave ripple over us, erupted as the giant doors opened and District One's chariot led the way out. If it were possible, the crowd got even louder.

Our chariot followed theirs, out onto the grand path that went down between the two massive stands packed with people, and down to President Snow himself. I kept my eyes fixed on that podium straight ahead, not even glancing at the people, most of whom were up on their feet now in over-excitement at our appearance, because I knew the sight of all those eyes on me might make me sick. I could barely see them anyway; the beams of light inside our chariot were nearly blinding by themselves, and I couldn't see much because of them.

I did force myself to look up at one of the large television screens, so I could see the whole parade line up behind us. Ovid had been right. While there were many extravagant, over-the-top parade costumes, ours stood out the most by far amidst all the color in both the others' costumes and the crowds around us. We were gleaming silver, standing on mounds of fire, brighter than anything else under the darkening sky.

I noticed, though, first on the screen and then right next to me, that Zeke had engaged his charming side. He was waving and occasionally flashing smiles at the crowd, making me look like a stubborn idiot, since the beams of light really highlighted our faces. I fought the impulse to roll my eyes, and forced a little half-smile half-smirk expression onto my face, waving briefly once or twice. I even cracked the whip I held in my other hand in the air. I would have felt like a complete moron except for the fact that the entire crowd was going crazy. It was slightly sickening but encouraging too.

Something grazed against my cheek, and I realized it was a rose. People were throwing them at us constantly. I caught one in my free hand to look at it for a moment. In the light I could see it was a dark red, matching the color of my lipstick. I sniffed it for a moment, feeling ridiculous but I found the scent made me actually less nauseous, because it was something real and calm and soothing and not wild and crazy like everyone else here. _Get them to love you, _Ovid had said. I sighed lightly, tossed the rose away, and on an impulse I blew a kiss to the general direction the rose had come from. I could hear screams of delight from that area of the crowd, and for a moment I felt a more genuine smile of amusement on my face.

From what I could see, the attention was all focused on the Careers more than ever. Zeke and I especially. We made a more fearsome, impressive-looking team than the District 1 kids did, if I did say so myself. Apparently the crowd agreed, I even saw a sign go up, "Mars and Minerva", the Roman god and goddess of war, and I smiled completely genuinely now. People loved us. This was seriously going to help me win these Games. Sponsors were definitely going to be the deciding factor between life and death in the arena, the arena the Gamemakers had made worse than ever for the Fourth Quarter Quell.

When we reached the end of the path, we made a circle around the end of it, as President Snow stood up to begin his speech. He was a tall, thin man who had very pale skin and piercing gray eyes that you couldn't look at for too long for fear of being burned to ashes. I hated the fact that one person like him could have so much power over every living being in the nation. But I kept my smile on, seeing as how the cameras were on our chariot right now. I turned in the direction where there seemed to be a camera, and I blew a kiss straight at it and smiled before we finally left to go back into the building.

* * *

The second we were inside, my smile dropped and I tossed the whip down to the floor. My ears were ringing painfully after so much noise, and my eyes hurt from staring into the light for so long.

I saw a flash to my left in the corner of my eye, and I turned to look. It was the District One boy, removing his headpiece of jewels. As if he knew someone was watching him, he turned to look at me, and our eyes locked for a moment.

And then he smiled at me.

Not a malicious, "I'm going to kill you soon" smile, but a genuine, friendly little smile. I quickly looked away from him, finding it strange that a District One tribute could look neither menacing nor full of himself.

"Well done, both of you." I jumped down from the chariot as Ovid came up to us, looking proud of his work. "Brilliant performance. You two were by far the most noticeable and the most intimidating. Now, I'll put all this away and I'll meet you upstairs; I believe your mentor is waiting there so you go ahead." He nodded in the direction of the elevators down the hall. As I followed Zeke toward them, I gave a passing smirk to some little tributes nearby who were staring at me in fright.

When the elevator doors opened a moment later to the second floor, I walked in and stood there for a moment to look around at all the splendor, vaguely impressed. Zeke looked like he cared less than I did, and walked right past me.

"I kinda like our stylists," he mused, throwing the breastplate of his armor down and collapsing onto the couch. "They seem to know what they're doing, at least," I said, sitting beside him, "Did you get a good sense of our competition today?" "Blaze, please." He propped himself up on his elbow and looked up to look at me. "The only difficulties we'll ever find in these Games are the things that the Gamemakers throw at us. The tributes themselves are a laugh."

"I don't know. The other Careers looked somewhat good, at least." "Blaze, you make me laugh," he smirked up at me, his dark eyes twinkling, "Did you even get a look at the blonde girl? She'll be no problem, I could snap her in half without much effort, really. The guy, I don't know. He's awfully tall but who knows if he's actually strong or skilled." "Either way, I imagine the arena will be hard enough for us to deal with." "Have faith in your training, girl," he said, "You've been trained with every weapon on every terrain in many scenarios. I'd say we're both prepared." To silence me he reached up and grabbed the back of my head, and pulled me down to him for a kiss.

I quickly sat up and turned around at the sound of the door closing. "Well well well." A tall man in a suit had entered the room. The suit wasn't neon or flashy: it was black, with a white shirt underneath, and a black tie. He wore sunglasses indoors, but that wasn't why I felt the need to stare at his head—his hair was dyed in a black-and-white zebra-like pattern. His general appearance was both strange and mysterious. "You must be Blaze, and you must be Zeke. My name is Marcus. I will be your mentor for these Games."


	10. Chapter 10

I involuntarily jumped when I woke up, unused to the strange comfort of my fancy bed. I had been having a nightmare, but I didn't quite remember what it had been about. Probably the usual, I guess. My past, and the Games in my future. Maybe my mentor had been in there too. Zeke and I had spent all evening yesterday talking to Marcus, and I had to say the man was kind of…creepy.

I lay still for a moment, breathing in slowly, thinking. Today was the first day of training. Time to scare some little children. And meet my fellow Careers. I didn't like the idea of working with other people, but at least the skilled ones of the tributes wouldn't be trying to kill me in the arena. Although, they couldn't be much of an asset, being from District One. I had lived there; I knew how obnoxious that entire population was.

I got out of bed and stood at my window for a minute. The Capitol was huge. A fearsome, beautiful place. I thought about what future it held for me. It could hold my death, if I died in the arena in a few weeks. But what if I won? Would my criminal record disappear? Would the asylum workers stay silent? Or would I quietly vanish from the face of the earth after my victory tour? I didn't know.

I went to my closet and pulled out my training uniform. It was a sleek black material, with a 2 stitched into the sleeves and back. Visions of Academy, training rooms, the hospital, and the rest of the district flashed across my mind. Hiding in the basement. Zeke's abuse. Doctor Gaius. His words echoed in my mind, but I quickly pushed them away. That old man didn't know what he was talking about. Sure, he knew my parents and saved my life, but me the savior of the nation? I couldn't imagine a worse candidate.

I pulled off my loose silk nightclothes and tossed them on my bed, then tugged on the fitted, flattering uniform, yawning as I did so. I hadn't slept very well. Being back in the Capitol was terrifying. I had woken up nearly every hour in the night, expecting the police to be pounding on my door.

I went to the bathroom and pulled up my hair into the bunched ponytail my mom had worn in her Games. I stared at my pale face in the mirror for a moment, unconsciously wringing my hands as fatigue set in. The next moment I snapped alert to find my fist about to punch the mirror. I managed to veer to the side in the split second I had, punching the wall instead. At least bruised knuckles were better than hands sliced by shattered glass.

I exhaled slowly, looking at the door. I hadn't held a knife in a few days. I needed one. I slipped out into the main room, which was dark and silent. It was probably around 5 am, as the sun hadn't quite risen yet. But I didn't want to wait around for breakfast. I didn't need food. I needed knives.

Moving silently and swiftly across the room, I went to the door to the stairs. The elevator would awaken the others. No sooner had I turned the doorknob and cracked the door open, when I heard footsteps. And voices. On the other side of the door. I didn't open the door any further, and I peered out, curious. Two girls came into view, and in the dim light I could see one had fiery red hair in a high ponytail, and the other had long dark hair in a side braid. When they turned the corner on the stairs, I realized with a jolt that I recognized one of them.

The red-haired girl I didn't know. She was tall, maybe around my age, but that was all I could gather. Also I could tell she was from District 5, because she looked a lot like that one foxfaced girl I had seen in the interviews of my parents' Games. But speaking of those games, the other girl alarmed me much more. Her face, her hair, her fierce expression, her rebellious air and her current angry whisper— it was Lily Mellark. Daughter of the girl on fire. The rebel. The Mockingjay. Katniss Everdeen.

The Mellark girl actually looked very young. Perhaps thirteen, but no older. But I instantly hated her. Her mom had tried to kill both my parents, and had succeeded with my dad. She was probably an archery demon too. I had never been great with archery, or any long-distance weapon for that matter except for knives. Who knew what this girl could do? And why was she talking to the redheaded girl at this hour?

I waited for a few minutes to put some distance between us, then I slipped out the door and ran down the flights of stairs to the first floor. I rounded the corner to head down the hall to the lobby so fast that I ran right into someone. I fell backward in surprise, alarmed, to see the brunette District One guy I had caught a glimpse of at the parade yesterday.

"Someone's in a hurry," he said in calm amusement, his smooth voice laced with faint traces of Capitol accent. He offered me a hand, and I looked at him strangely. "Why are you up so early?" I muttered, not moving. "I feel I'd have to ask you the same question." I reluctantly took his hand, after a pause, and let him pull me to my feet. I then got a sense of how very tall he was. It was slightly intimidating.

"Sorry about that," I muttered, my hands wringing themselves. "It never happened. Where you headed? It's a bit early to go to training, isn't it?" I looked up at his face, my eyes fixing on his deep, ocean blue ones. "I need to. I haven't held a knife in ages and I need to let off some steam." "Well, if it's open, mind if I join you? I'm trying to escape someone." I raised an eyebrow. "Who?" "My district partner. Lacey. I'm sorry but she's awful. She's talkative and loud and so flirtatious it's enough to kill someone."

I snorted. "Sounds like a nightmare." "She kind of is. What about you? Your partner bearable?" I laughed. A single, mirthless, sharp sound. "I don't find a single human being on this planet bearable, District One." "Not much of a people person hm?" "No," I said crisply. "Shall I leave you alone then?" "I don't care." "Well, then I will join you, Miss Mystery. I could use a little warmup before it's time to intimidate small children." I actually cracked a genuine smile. Small, but it happened.

"Well let's go then. Oh, and we may not be alone," I murmured, as we started walking down the hall toward the lobby. "Well there will be the staff and some gamemakers around I suppose." "No, other tributes. Two girls headed this way a few minutes before me. District 5 and District 12." "District 12 being Mellark." His voice was flat and full of dislike.

"Yeah. Daughter of the rebel who killed my father." "And my uncle," he mused darkly, "My father won the Games five years later, but his brother Marvel was killed by Katniss Everdeen. But your dad was Cato, right? How are you… alive? If your mom was Clove? Both parents gone before you could've been born… ?" "I'm not telling you anything, District One." "Fine, fine. Stay a secretive people-hater." "Oh I will."

We went down to the training center, which was dark and empty. I searched the walls for a bit until I found a light switch, and turned it on. The lights overhead flickered on, revealing a massive training room that bore a striking resemblance to the training centers at Academy. The guy seemed to notice my expression and said, "What, look familiar? Obviously the Careers cheat a bit, the victors come home and tell their academy all about what the training room and the equipment are like so future generations can practice with exactly the same thing. Gives us even more of an edge, you know, to know what we've got to work with to get good training scores."

I was quiet for a minute, looking around as we walked through the room. "So what're you good at?" I asked him. "What?" "Like, in here. Your weapon." "I'm decent with most things, but spears are probably my specialty, if I had to pick one. What's yours? Or are you going to keep that a mystery too," he asked in amusement.

I barely heard his words; I had finally located the throwing knives station and was on it in an instant. My fingers brushed over the blades of the row of knives, and I felt myself relax, smiling even, to finally have knives back. I took the entire selection out of the case, fitting each knife into my belt, before walking into the middle of the targets.

My hand gripped the sturdy hilt of one of the knives, and I sent it flying at a target. And the whirlwind began, as my hands never stopped moving, one hand always retrieving a new knife as the other hand threw one, until I was out ten seconds later, and a knife sat squarely in the center of each target. The only noise after that was my brief panting, until a voice said, "Not bad." I turned around, having pretty much forgotten the District 1 kid was there.

"Not bad? I got every target." "Mm. I do find your strength impressive. The knives are all up to the hilt in those targets. Most girls I've seen, their knives often barely stick." "Psh. Let's see you hit one." "Okay." The tall boy walked toward me, and pulled a knife with some effort out of a target. After taking careful aim, he threw it, and it hit a couple inches to the left of the center.

"Not bad," I echoed him sarcastically, and he chuckled, retrieving the knife and trying again. "You know, it helps if you relax your wrist more," I said, "You're bending at the elbow, but for the shorter knives you've really got to flick your wrist to get it spinning right." He tried again, and it hit the very mark where I had sunk the blade previously.

"What? Mystery Girl giving me helpful advice?" he joked with a smile, pulling out all the knives now and helping me put them back. "Don't count on it too often now, Golden Boy." "Golden Boy?" "Don't act all surprised now, District 1 gets life served on a gold platter." "Platinum sometimes, actually." I gave him an incredulous look, but his expression told me he was joking.

"I kid. So your real name is Blaze, right? Not Minerva?" "Why on earth would you think my name is Minerva?" "The parade, silly," he chuckled, "Have you not seen how obsessed they all are with you and the other guy? Miss Roman Goddess of War. You made quite an impression, it seems." "Just blame my stylist, he's a nutcase. Anyway, yeah, my name is Blaze. What's yours?" "I'm Axel. Axel Carter."


End file.
